


Bad Habits

by TinyBat



Category: Black Widow - Fandom, Captain America, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Flawless!Tasha, Gen, Things about Natasha, introspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBat/pseuds/TinyBat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and those little things she just can't or doesn't want to drop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scan

**Author's Note:**

> I'm referring to Natasha Romanova. Romanova is the name that would be applied to a female member of the Romanov family. "A" is used to signify the female gender as opposed to just Romanov.

It wasn't often that the Black Widow had enough free time to decompress and re-arrange her brain into "Natasha Romanova" mode. She was always pleasantly surprised by it,but not always by how she chose to spend it. If she was tired, or aggravated, the more frightening and vicious part of her brain woke up and crept into her conscious state.

The Red Room wasn't something she enjoyed thinking about, not the routine, not the training, not the shouting, not the people; she hated thinking about everything related to that awful part of her life. Yet, it insinuated itself back in, and she'd find herself wondering how to break someone. Not physically, that was accomplished easily enough; but to truly tear down and obliterate every internal defense someone has around their heart and mind. It reminded her of her own weaknesses and sometimes when she was alone, she hated herself for ever allowing such disgusting lapses in judgement that the everyday person exhibited. 

One day in particular, Natasha was sitting on a hill in Central Park. It was warm and full of the buzz of excited students, tourists, and the odd drunk. What caught her eye was a dark haired girl sitting on a bench maybe 25 feet away. She was perfectly still, peering intently at the pages of a book. Sometimes she'd smile, bite her lip, or maybe her eyes would widen,and her jaw would drop open slightly; but the book absorbed her completely. Or it had until her phone buzzed, she checked the screen, and all the joy the book had given her was gone. She pulled her arms in closer to her chest, not so much that the average person would notice, and her jaw clenched. The girls eyes glazed over for the skin of a second, followed by something akin to loss, and then she gave a little half smile to the screen as if the person on the other end could see it. It didn't reach her eyes and it hadn't improved her mood. She shook her head, trying to clear it of what ever was troubling her.

Natasha kept watching, the girl was using the book as a distraction. The message on her phone had hurt her but she was trying to convince herself otherwise. Maybe a lover, an old one was more likely. The way the girl held herself yelled "intense social anxiety and low self esteem" in every direction, so perhaps it was long distance. Yes, that seemed to suit her better. She had allowed herself to be touched by another person but without the problems of another physical presence. That probably didn't take out the sting though. Love was a luxury for children and civilians. It was a mistake. An aberration to be rectified. It didn't do for the Widow to love. But love she had, and it was locked away so tightly within that she almost forgot about it. 

The girl set the book in her lap and dug a pair of headphones, she jammed them into the headphone jack after two attempts with shaking hands and her music started. Natasha couldn't hear it but watched the flickering expressions in the girl's eyes. The music wasn't a good distraction, it just hurt her more. She had curled in around herself like a wounded animal and her shoulders were shaking slightly. She had her hands clenched into white knuckled fists so her nails bit into the flesh of her palms and the muscles in her jaws tightened. This one was fighting off loneliness, the predator in Natasha's head smiled. Yes, the lonely ones were always the most fun. So many raw places to cut into. So many shadows to whisper into. They were cracking in places already, all the Widow would need to do is put in a word or two here and there and they'd be curled in a ball sobbing, begging for the voices and people in their heads to stop. Once they're broken, once they've been unmade; they could be reforged stronger, harder, and with no remorse. The Widow was proof of that.

The girl was crying now, she didn't want to be and wiped furiously at her eyes. Then her phone buzzed a second time, another bitter half smile crossed her lips and again it didn't quite reach her still tearing eyes. She clearly missed this person dearly, even with constant access to them. If a screen counted as access. This was the type of girl who was so convinced that she wasn't worthy of being loved that she only allowed herself the kind with the least amount of danger to it. She was still so clearly in love and pained by it that if Natasha had been a more compassionate person, she would have perhaps allowed some slight amount of pity for the strange girl with her book.

The Widow could have easily broken this girl on her bench with her book and her phone, but she was already doing a fine job of it herself with assistance from the invisible screen presence. Romantics were the ones who couldn't let go and this one was hopeless. Later in life, perhaps it would become less of a burden to her. For now, Natasha uncurled her legs, stood up and stretched. Prey was easy to find and she hardly ever had to look far anymore. She hated knowing that she could do it, hated knowing that she'd done it, and finally hated that she had allowed it to happen to herself. No matter, it had been a long time, and she was slowly coming back to something resembling human, not a murderous, manipulative, shade in a mask. Natasha had Fury and his ideas to thank for that.


	2. Nails

It was something Clint had commented on only once; the glare he received for it had been enough for him not to bring it up again. She had never been too sure why herself but it was just a thing that happened gradually. Natasha had a huge collection of nail polish bottles in her New York apartment. Shelves and shelves of tiny bottles all organized by shade. She had them meticulously arranged so that it was an almost perfect gradient effect. 

Maybe seeing the wall of color was soothing, it wasn't unheard of for certain shades to be used for therapeutic purposes. Maybe she just wanted to add a little life to the room, plants always seemed to die on her. The fact remained that Natasha had a nasty habit of buying nail polish almost every time she saw it, usually only one or two bottles though and never the same color. It was one of her less peculiar habits but still one she wouldn't like announced to the office. She didn't paint her nails, it wasn't practical in her line of work; her nails were always a mess anyway. Natasha worked far too much with her hands to bother painting her nails, the color would chip immediately and the idea that part of her hands would be so visible made her uncomfortable.

Her favorite part of the shelves was the section devoted to blue, she had seen a considerable amount of the world; parts the sea never seemed to remain the same color for too long. If she could paint her nails, she'd paint them blue like Carribbean water; all the different shades. Blue was such a hopeful color, it was the sea, and the sky, it was the color of a peaceful expanse to quietly ponder. Yes, if Natasha could allow herself one frivolous thing like a day off, she would paint her nails all the shades of blue. If red was work, she would make blue play.


End file.
